England's Cooking
by HetaliaLover21
Summary: France decides to drop by England's home one Saturday morning. Trying to avoid yet another argument, England offers him biscuits that...aren't the best of quality. What happens then? Hilarity ensues as France tries to teach the Brit how to cook. Will he succeed? Well...find out for yourself. (Rated T for /very/ minor language)


England's Cooking

Heeey! It's been awhile since I lost posted something... XD Okay, sorry if it isn't any good, I just had this idea in class and I didn't really have a plot in mind, so yeah. XD

I also wanted to write something with France and Britain because 1) I ship FrUK and 2) I need to write something not involving the Nordics...or something. So…that's pretty much it. I hope you guys really enjoy this.

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

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It was a cloudy day in London when a certain British gentleman was having tea and (burnt) biscuits while…I dunno. What do you Brits normally do in the afternoon? Oh well. He seemed to be holding a spell book. "Oh, so _that's _what went wrong…" He told himself. "No wonder the potion exploded." He added, remembering the contents of a black cauldron exploding in his face. "I'll have to try again. Right, Flying Mint Bunny?" He asked a little mint green rabbit that only he (and maybe Norway) could see. He took another sip from his teacup and heard someone knocking on the door. _'I wonder who that is?' _He asked to himself whilst the knocking seemed to get louder. _'I'm not expecting anyone…' _He began to list down every country that could visit without invitation. _'Either America or-'_

"Oh, Angleterre!" Called an unmistakable voice, breaking his trail of thought.

'_France.' _England mentally facepalmed. It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, and he didn't really want to see the 'bloody frog'.

"Angleterre! What are you doing in there? Open up!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming…bloody frog…" England muttered while walking to the door, feeling a headache coming on. He opened the door to see the flamboyant Frenchman standing there impatiently with the usual rose in his hand.

"What took you so long, Angleterre?" France asked the now annoyed British man.

"Well, I have having some tea and biscuits while studying a simple potion before you interrupted." He sighed. "But, I suppose I don't mind company. Come on in." He let France in and sat down. France followed and a little bit too close beside him.

"Scoot over, frog." England told France without looking at him.

"Alright, whatever you say, Iggy-brows." France replied, scooting a bit to the right.

"Don't call me Iggy-brows!" England yelled at the Frenchman.

"Don't call me frog." France replied with a bored expression.

England closed and tried controlling his anger, not wanting to have an argument once again. (A bit too late for that, don't you think?) "…Have a biscuit." He offered through gritted teeth while holding up a tray of…were they even biscuits?

"…What are these?" France asked while poking one of the burnt things that were once biscuits.

"A biscuit." England answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"It doesn't look like one." France said, still unconvinced.

"Then what does it look like?" England asked. The frog was really getting on his nerves.

"It looks like a burnt piece of charcoal…I think? Honestly, I could never tell with your cooking, England." France said, putting the rose in his hand inside an empty vase on the coffee table. …Who even puts an empty vase on display? _Honestly._

"My cooking is fine, you bloody git!" England yelled, obviously offended.

"Tell that to this piece of charcoal."

England sighed once again.

"You know…I could teach you." France offered.

"I know how to cook, thank you very much." The Brit retorted.

"I don't think so. Come on, it'll be fun."

"That's what you said about joining you to drink." England said, not wanting to experience the moment again.

"And it was, wasn't it?" France cracked a grin.

"We got bloody arrested, you ass!" England shot the Frenchman a glare.

"But still! We're only cooking. No harm in that."

"…Fine. What could possibly go wrong?"

"Well…there's the slight chance that the kitchen will burn down."

"Thank you, that makes me feel so much better about cooking with you."

France ignored that last statement and dragged England to the kitchen, rattling off cooking instructions.

~Time Skip~

Five pm. At least two hours have passed. You guys are probably asking how it went.

"Non! I told you to set it on medium for forty minutes!"

It's going horribly, thank you for asking. :)

"Well, I thought setting it on high for ten minutes would shorten the cooking time!"

France facepalmed and cursed a bit in French. Teaching England how to cook was harder than he first thought. Over the course of two hours, England had made fifteen batches that were either badly burnt or way too undercooked. England sighed and sat down. "I give up…I don't want to do this anymore, dammit."

France looked at him. "After all that trouble?" He sighed. "You can't give up now."

England buried his face in his hands. "But you're right! I hate to admit it, France, but you're right! I'm a horrible cook."

France shook his head. "None of that. You just need to keep trying." He glanced at the latest tray of biscuits England had made. It was still a bit burnt, but it looked better than the others. "Look, Angleterre, you almost got the hang of it. You can do it."

"Y-you think I can?" England asked, looking up.

"I know you can. Now, try again." France gave the Englishman a warm and encouraging smile.

That seemed to motivate England. "A-alright then…" He stood up and began to make something once again.

~Time Skip~

After a half hour of silence and complete and utter concentration, England had made a tray of biscuits that were considerably better than the others. There were almost no burns. France took one and bit into it while England watched with a bit of excitement shining in his emerald eyes. "…Well?" He looked at the Frenchman expectantly.

"It was…"

Can I get a drumroll, please.

"…good."

I swear, I just heard a choir of angels sing at France's statement.

England looked shocked. "You really think so?"

France nodded. "Oui. This tastes magnifique."

The Brit sighed with relief. "Thank goodness." He looked at France. "And, thank you, France. You really helped." He said as he gave a quick hug, pulling away quickly. Yep, still a tsundere.

France chuckled. "That's what the big brother of Europe is supposed to do~ Help others." He smiled. "It was no problem." Francis Bonnefoy, you liar.

"…speak of this to anyone and I'll sectumsempra your lungs."

France flashed an even bigger grin. "That's the England I know. Don't worry, I won't."

England nodded. "Good."

"Hm…" France finished the biscuit in his hand. "…I still say my cooking's better."

There was a moment of silence.

"Wanker."

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And that's it! I'm glad I didn't get caught for not paying attention in class. XD And yes, I had to end it like that. Sorry if it's corny. Expect that whenever I write FrUK. I ship those two like FedEx. :P (Especially if one of them's genderbent. XD) So…yeah. XD That's it. *brofists*

**Translations:**

Angleterre – England

Oui – Yes

Non – No

Magnifique - Magnificent


End file.
